


Ease

by morganya



Category: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-19
Updated: 2004-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ted doesn't get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ease

  
To Ted's way of thinking, the locker room had always been the worst part of gym class. In high school he'd been able to get changing down to an art form; by senior year he'd been able to get into shorts and a T-shirt and then back into normal clothes without even taking his shoes and socks off. It was a tough habit to break.

None of the other guys seemed to share the habit. Ted sat in the chair by the door, absently tugging at the sleeves of his greenish blue T-shirt, listening to the ship's engine hum under the floor. He watched the other guys change, their street clothes draped over racks and tables. Thom tossed a pair of flip-flops across the room to Jai.

Ted told himself that they'd all spent too much time together to be self-conscious anymore.

"I was sure you were going to have a screaming fit when you saw the clothes," Thom said to Carson. "I was sort of looking forward to it."

Carson shooed the comment away with a wave. He held his shirt, pale as rosé wine, over his arm, as though he were about to present an elaborate meal. His shoulders were skinny, but his body was solid and square. His shorts were light orange; a white flower bloomed on his right hip. "What are you talking about? I look fabulous. Anyway, it's fun. I haven't sung South Pacific outside the shower in years."

"These are all too big," Jai complained. He tossed a burnt orange shirt across the room, where it landed on Kyan's head. "Oops. Sorry."

Kyan just sighed tolerantly and adjusted his hair. His shirt was pale lavender; if he stood next to Carson in the right light, they'd almost be twins, but Kyan was triangular where Carson was square, with broad shoulders sloping towards a narrow waist. Ted could see the ridges of Kyan's biceps under the cotton, tapering down to slim wrists, small hands. Ted rested his chin on his hand, hiding his mouth behind his fingers.

"Ted?" Jai said. "How about this? This okay? Carson?"

"Is that green or yellow?" Ted said.

"It's grellow. Or yelleen," Carson said. He unfolded his own shirt with a flourish and put it on. When he'd gotten his head out, like a cork popping from a bottle neck, he said, "I don't think it works on you, honey. Skin tone issue."

"Oh, fuck it." Jai pulled the shirt over his head. "It's the only thing that looks like it'll fit me."

"Eat a damn bag of chips," Thom said. He leaned over and rubbed Jai's shoulder. "I mean, Jesus."

Jai just laughed and put on a pair of flip-flops. Ted wondered how much time Jai had spent backstage changing in and out of costume, scrambling to find his shoes among ten million other actors, how many other times his body had been judged.

Ted noted with some satisfaction that Jai's legs appeared skinnier than his.

Not by much, though.

Kyan was doing deep yoga breathing, in and out through his nose in a steady rhythm. He hadn't yet picked out his pants, and didn't appear to be a hurry to do so; Kyan always moved deliberately, listening to his own internal clock.

"Kyan," Carson said sweetly, "Are you just going to strut around and display your charms, or are you getting dressed?"

"Getting dressed," Kyan said, and went back to breathing.

"We should all learn how to speed-dress like Ted," Jai said. "At this rate..."

"Whoopi's gonna come back here and kick our asses," Thom finished. "Then Katie's going to kick our asses. Then the press'll kick our asses for ruining the benefit. Then we'll all lose our jobs and die in a ditch."

"One big ditch, or separate ones?" Ted said. "Because I'd rather die on my own, thank you."

Thom just grinned at him. He'd cut his hair, like Jai had, but while Jai looked older and harder somehow, Thom looked softer, more unformed, a perpetual just-woken-up look. When he bent his head, Ted could see the faint streaks of gray starting just above his ear.

Thom's shirt was dark red, shorts dark blue with white flowers; Thom tended to go for primaries. He stood in the middle of the floor, balanced on one foot, flip-flop dangling, one ankle resting on top of his left thigh, absently rubbing his heel. If it had been anyone else, they'd have toppled over.

Thom straightened up and caught Ted's eye. "Toss me a towel, will ya?"

Ted picked up one of the towels by his feet and lobbed it in Thom's direction. He missed; it landed two inches in front of him. Thom just laughed and went to pick it up.

"You'll never make the team this way, Ted."

"Story of my life," Ted said.

On stage, behind Whoopi, Ted kept thinking, _At least it's for a good cause._ He couldn't keep his knees from coming together, elbows locked to his sides. It wouldn't be so bad if he'd been between Carson and Kyan: Carson had a greater proportion of enthusiasm than he had of rhythm, and Kyan just grooved along in his own way, but Jai was trained for this kind of thing, and Thom was just...Thom. He knew he must look like an idiot. The other guys would give him hell after this was over.

Bastards.

*****

"All your favorite songs are sad ones," Thom told him.

"I wouldn't say 'sad' so much as..." Ted said.

"As what, exactly?"

"Um. It's not about the emotion, really..."

Thom rolled his eyes. They were sitting in the production office, waiting for the meeting to begin. Carson and Kyan were always late; Carson was easily distracted and tended to get lost in the halls, and Kyan was unconscious of time. Jai was usually on time, but he had an attention span comparable to Carson's as well as an intolerance for boredom and it wasn't unheard of for him to wander off somewhere.

Thom adjusted the paperweight on the desk. He was constantly tweaking the objects around him, trying to find the right angle, transforming rooms bit by bit. He did it compulsively, seemingly unconsciously; Ted sometimes caught himself walking into a room, where all he could feel was Thom's imprint.

"Sooo, what would it be then?" Thom said.

Ted couldn't remember how they'd started having this conversation, when Thom had either gotten bored with or given up on trying to make Dave's office meet his standards and turned his attention (most of it, anyway) on Ted. Ted thought that if he were Jai, or possibly Kyan, he wouldn't be being interrogated right now, that Thom would just tease him for a moment, then pull him into his arms and wrestle with him like a puppy, until everyone else arrived and they had to stop.

But the thing was, he wasn't Jai or Kyan.

"What would what be?" Ted said blandly.

"You know. Come on. Talk to me." Thom took his elbows off the desk and tapped Ted's arm with two fingers. "Pay attention to me."

Thom always treated him like he was breakable, and it irritated him. "How bored _are_ you, anyway?"

"Bored enough, obviously." Thom hadn't taken his hand away. "Ah don' know whyyyy Ah waste mah tahme..."

Ted punched Thom's shoulder. Thom might think he was breakable, but he knew Thom wasn't. Thom just held onto his forearm, thumb brushing against the underside, laughing deep in his throat.

"You've got to do something about these aggressive tendencies, Ted."

"I thought I was," Ted said. Thom's hand encircled his entire arm; he felt like a damned teenager. "Let go of my arm, you freak."

"No."

But Thom did let go, and Ted felt something that might have been disappointment but he didn't have the time to study it that closely.

Thom rotated one shoulder, slowly, in what was almost a shrug. "Hey, come have dinner with me this weekend. If you can fit me into your busy social life, I mean."

Ted chose to ignore the bait and said, "Great. Where should I meet you?"

"My place. Remember where it is?"

"Your place."

"Yeah."

"Thom? You don't cook," Ted explained patiently.

"Well, no, but I've got a Rolodex full of takeout places."

"Mmm," Ted said. He knew Thom knew he'd say yes. "And you're totally fine with interrupting _your_ night of debauchery out on the town..."

"I'll make a few calls," Thom said. "'I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Jackman, I can't come out tonight, I'm very busy tending to my elderly friend.'"

"I don't exactly think Hugh Jackman has you on speed-dial, Thom."

"You gonna come or what?"

"Yeah," Ted said. "What should I bring?"

"Nothing. You're the guest." Thom looked almost offended. "Guests don't need to do anything."

"I don't want to just..."

"Just come."

Ted said nothing, tapping his fingertips on the top of Dave's desk, waiting for the punchline. Thom didn't smile or laugh, just repeated, "Just come."

Later, at home in his apartment, Ted made a list of all his old boyfriends, then crossed the names out one by one.

*****

Ted stood in front of Thom's apartment door, wishing Thom's notion of hospitality was something different than 'just show up.' Ted preferred it when he could gild the lily with booze or chocolate. Otherwise he wound up wasting time fidgeting outside, with no idea what to do with his hands.

Knocking on the door seemed like a good bet right about now.

Thom started chattering to him before the door was even half open. "Hey. About time. Want a drink? I've got, like, some of that nasty vermouth you like. Except I've had it for a while, so there might be some little creatures growing in the bottle."

"A little texture," Ted said. "Fantastic."

At night, Thom's apartment looked like it was lost in space, with no indication of where the windows began and the outside ended. Ted pulled at his shirt cuffs and tried not to feel exposed. Thom's dog wandered into the room, gave Ted a cursory sniff and wandered away.

Thom touched his shoulder. "Come on."

Ted sat at the kitchen table and watched Thom fiddle with Cuban takeout. He stood over the island, frowning intently into a plastic container.

"You know, I can help," Ted said.

Thom glared at him. "You're the _guest._"

"Okay." Ted cupped his chin in his hand. "Just checkin'."

"Mmm," Thom said. He slid black beans, fragrant with cumin and vinegar, onto the plates before him and poked them with a fork, sculpting them into shape. "It doesn't look bad, right? The beef looks kinda, with the pimentos..."

"A pimento situation."

"Yeah."

Thom's dog trotted into the kitchen, bypassed Thom entirely, and sat down at Ted's feet, gazing up with sad dark eyes. Ted scratched his head tentatively. "Hi."

"He thinks you're going to feed him," Thom pointed out. "He's given up on begging at me, now he just harasses everyone else who comes in the kitchen."

"Oh," Ted said. He looked down at the dog, who wagged his tail, still looking at him with liquid eyes. "Your dog's trying to toy with my affections, Thom."

"Is it working?" Thom laughed and snapped his fingers at the dog. "You're out of here, kiddo. Yeah, you. Out."

The dog stood up and went to lie down in the doorway, looking hopeful. Thom rolled his eyes affectionately and gaped back at the arrangement of paper and plastic spread around him. "Oh my God."

"Hmm?" Ted said.

Thom just stared at him, defeated. "It won't look right."

"Want help?"

"No."

"Come on."

"But you're..."

"The guest. So I've heard. Humor me."

Thom scowled at him but moved aside. Ted moved towards the ropa vieja as if it were magnetic. He thought, _Best to stick to what you're good at._

"See," Ted said, "It's not bad, it's that the presentation..." He put an arm around Thom's shoulders, his fingers spread along Thom's collarbone, guiding him back into place. Thom quietly moved in time with him.

"You know this," Ted said. "It's just design, right? On a smaller scale."

"I'd like it better if it was, like, easier to deal with," Thom said. "It won't stay in place."

Ted thought that his arm felt heavy on Thom's back, wondered if he should shift position, if he looked unnatural like this. He didn't really want to move.

Ted took the fork from Thom's hand, pushed tiny grains of rice together on the white plate before him. "It's okay that this is getting cold, right?"

"Microwave," Thom said.

Ted took his arm from Thom's shoulders slowly, bent over the plates; despite what he'd said earlier, the food is hot, heavily spiced steam rushing into his face, beading moisture on his glasses. Thom put a soft hand on his back, bending over and peering at Ted's hands.

Ted eased shredded beef onto rice, golden sauce soaking through the grains, next to black beans and plantains, everything mingling together. He looked up. "See? Very easy."

"Not really," Thom said. He was flushed from steam, pink spreading across his cheekbones. Ted rolled his eyes and said, "Well, you know what I mean."

"No," Thom said. "I don't." And kissed him.

For a moment Ted couldn't even react. He stood with one hand resting on the island's steely counter, fork still in his fingers. Thom rubbed his arm in slow up-and-down strokes, parting Ted's lips with the tip of his tongue as Ted remembered how to think, in stuttery bursts, _Do something, do something, do something,_ and the fork clinked gently on the counter when he dropped it.

Ted put two fingers on the hollow of Thom's throat, feeling the pulse shiver against his skin. His other hand fell from the counter; he reached for Thom's hip, but couldn't seem to locate it, his hand just groped in empty space.

Thom pulled away, dropping his forehead to Ted's. "Want to save this for later?"

"Okay," Ted said.

Sitting on Thom's bed with his glasses already off, his shoes and socks shoved by Thom's bedside table, Ted started to unbutton his shirt when Thom said, "Don't."

Ted looked up. "Hmm?"

Thom was reduced to a dark-haired blur when Ted looked at him without his glasses on. He stepped towards the bed, stripping off his shirt; when he got close enough to come into focus Ted could see the sparse brown-black hair running in a straight line over his abdomen. Thom believed in waxing.

Thom put a hand on Ted's shoulder, saying, "Don't move." He eased Ted back onto the bed, pillows wedging under his shoulders, stopping his hands.

"Um," Ted said faintly. Sometimes, shaving in the morning, the mirror didn't seem so much a tool as a judge. He didn't want to look up at Thom's eyes and see his reflection there.

Thom tapped his forehead gently. He fumbled for his belt with one hand. "Anyone ever done this for you?"

"Done what?" Ted closed his eyes briefly. He wondered dimly if it were possible to will yourself into being totally different, if he could open his eyes and feel himself grow younger and muscular and better-looking.

He knew it wasn't, of course.

Goddamnit.

"This." Thom let his pants drop to the floor, tugging his shorts off, strong legs spread apart like the conquering hero. Ted put his hand out before Thom could explain further, ran his thumb down the tender skin of Thom's inner thigh. Thom grinned down at him and got onto the bed. He curled against Ted's side, pale skin made even paler against Ted's dark shirt, eyes traveling the length of Ted's body silently. He touched Ted's body like a benediction. Ted said, trying not to think about what Thom was seeing, "You know, we might want to turn the lights out -"

Thom shook his head. "In a minute."

"Electricity bill," Ted babbled, "Light bulbs are expensive these days..."

"Oh my God, Ted." Thom was laughing, softly, kindly. He cupped Ted's face with one hand, thumb touching the underside of his jaw. "You're so...Jesus, are you shaking?"

"Um. No?"

Thom stopped laughing. He pulled Ted around and hugged him, massaging his shoulder. "You're so uptight."

"Part of my charm," Ted mumbled against Thom's skin, musk and salt on his lips.

Thom let go of him. "If you want to call it that." He put a hand on Ted's shirt, where the collar was open, exposing him. "But you're cute. And perfect."

"I'm not so perfect," Ted said softly.

Thom just laughed and kissed him. "So what?"

Thom had a way of effectively ending discussions.

It was an unfamiliar sensation, having someone else take off his clothes. Ted couldn't help but stiffen, as though he were turning into a mannequin, and Thom said, "Relax," more times than he could count. The air of the bedroom was tropical against Ted's bare skin.

Thom straddled his hips, scowling at the last few buttons of Ted's shirt. He was half-hard, cock swelling slowly. Ted ran a hand up Thom's thigh, thick with muscle, the skin soft. Thom smiled down at him curiously.

"You mind if...?" Ted said.

"What're you going to do?"

Ted stroked Thom's abdomen, moving down slowly. He wrapped his fingers around Thom's cock, feeling its weight, the slow movement of blood under thin skin.

"Wait," Thom said, not pulling away, "I was...I thought..."

"Mmm?" Ted said, swirling his fingers up and down the shaft. He watched Thom's eyes narrow and shut, like a tiger falling slowly asleep. His cock stiffened under Ted's fingers, moving from flesh to mere muscle.

"I was gonna..." Thom said.

"Change of plans," Ted said. No longer under scrutiny, he relaxed, shifting his weight for better access. He touched his palm to the swelling glans, feeling it butt dumbly against his heart line. Ted gave it a quick, delicate swirl. Thom went rigid, knees digging into Ted's sides, and his breath came out in a moan.

"Please..."

Ted started to withdraw; Thom grabbed for him.

"Sorry. Sorry, didn't mean that...keep, don't stop doing that. Please."

"Shh," Ted said, and patted Thom's stomach. His hand was slick with pre-come.

"Just..."

Ted closed his hand over the shaft, sliding down to the base, his pinky finger lost in the coarse, damp fur of pubic hair, his thumb and forefinger making a tight circle. He gripped Thom with his other hand, stroking and swirling, Thom's skin like melting butter.

The glans was crimson and almost ugly, and Ted thought about the milkweed pods that used to grow behind his house when he was a kid, the brown husks that didn't look like much of anything at first, until they swelled and split, shooting out tiny feathery parachutes that filled the air in the spring, and Thom moaned above him, his head thrown back as though he were about to howl. Liquid heat shot over Ted's palm, milky white, thick and sticky.

Ted smiled. Thom got his breath back and fell over him, hands cradling his head, mouth devouring him. Ted waited until Thom had dropped down by his side, arm thrown over his stomach, and said, "Well, Mr. Filicia?"

"I think you might have just screwed yourself out of a fuck, Mr. Allen," Thom said. "At least for an hour or so."

Ted just stretched, feeling his body become a solid, unbreakable band of muscle. "You're lucky I'm a patient man."


End file.
